My boobs are itchy, I smell like horse ass, and I can’t stop licking the road.

People who love the winter have something seriously wrong with them.  I don’t care if you’re an acrobatic back-flipping downhill skier, an expert snowperson builder, or the guy who salts our street like it’s a slab of pork rind–no one in their right mind would choose winter over the other three seasons.

In summer, you can like whatever the heck you want.

In summer, you can like whatever the heck you want.

Who wants a nose that feels like it is full of small tenement blocks and bleeds every time you try to “clean it out?”  I know–some of you are probably saying “EW!” right now.  But you are not from these parts.  We may have snow on the ground and damp in the air OUTSIDE, but our toasty homes contain air as dry as a popcorn fart.  Nasal passages don’t stand a chance.  I’m with George Costanza on this one–“with all that dry desert air, I bet that even Moses had occasion to pick.”

God help the women of  Eastern Canada because boobs get itchy.  I bet that every estrogen-owner north of the 49th can’t wait to find a private place to claw at her nipples.  I know that you’re thinking about it right now.  Go ahead.  Scratch.  I won’t look.  I’ll be too busy with my own.

And who in the hell enjoys trying to get the bottom of their pants into a pair of tall boots.  A person can’t wear skinny jeans every single day and normal ones make your boots all bloated and bumpy looking if you don’t put them in just right.  It’s a pain, is it not?

Even a Super Hero wear a boot-cut jean every once in a while.

Even a Super Hero wears a boot-cut jean every once in a while.

And, holy crap–hair really does like to do its own thing in the winter, doesn’t it?  No amount of goop can tame it.  And I have long, curly, red hair.  This is how I look from December to March.

He has quite the "do" going on, doesn't he?  My winter head is bigger.

He has quite the “do” going on, doesn’t he? My winter head is bigger.

You know how much I hate clowns. Just looking at this freak is disturbing me immensely.  His hair is tamer than mine though.

You know how much I hate clowns. Just looking at this freak is disturbing me immensely. His hair is tamer than mine though.

The only difference is that my hair is not wool.  Wool-like, yes.  But not actual wool.

The only difference is that my hair is not wool. Wool-like, yes. But not actual wool.

Please keep in mind, that the only resemblance that I have to these photos is the hair.  I do not have a red triangular nose and pasty white complexion.  Nor do I have Carrot Top’s freakish eyebrows or Raggedy Ann’s missing upper lashes.  And my shoes aren’t sewn on to my feet.

1) 2009-_1356001iElaine Davidson of the UK, also the Guinness World Record Holder for the woman with the most piercings, would have one hell of a time trying to rid her nose of oxygen barriers.  By 2006, she had been been punctured by 4225 piercings.  With that many holes in her, she probably doesn’t float.  Thankfully, she lives in the damp of Scotland and doesn’t have to worry about dry air encrusting her nose.

And, no.  She doesn’t set off the metal detectors at the airport.

shovel racing

2)  My shovel is not my friend.  Spending time with him involves a lot of work.  The snowblower is much easier to get along with.

But it turns out that I have been missing out on a perfect way to bond with my shovel–shovel racing.  Yup.  It really exists and wasn’t created by Canadians.  In fact, this sport was born in New Mexico of all places.

At Angel Fire Resort, in the Southern Rockies, snow-shovel enthusiasts can be seen careening down mountainous slopes at speeds of up to 70 mph.  Holy crap.  Only old-school metal shovels are allowed.  For some reason, visions of Clark Griswold‘s food-varnish-covered flying saucer springs to mind.  But these snow-shoveled psychopaths aren’t in a movie, and trees don’t know to stay out of their way.

A recent variation of the sport involves hooking up your shovel to a horse, shouting a yee-haw or two, and going wherever your equine takes you.  Yup, that’s just where I want to be when Black Beauty takes a dump.  Under her butt on a shovel.

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.

For the entrepreneurial shovel-rider.


3)  One thing I really don’t understand is the whole “electrified outdoor clothing” trend.  Why would anyone want electric mitts?  Sure, they’re warm.  But sitting on the electric chair is probably toasty too.

Mitts are meant for snow.  Snow is made of water.  Water and electricity don’t mix.  If you build a snowball in electric mitts, will you electrocute yourself?  I mean, it bodes well for your intended snowball victim.  But it does seem like a rather harsh punishment for engaging in child’s play.

And what happens if your hands sweat?

Stress makes my hands sweat when I’m not wearing heated mittens.  Worrying about my heated mittens killing me will definitely exacerbate the problem.  What if your wearing your heated mittens while riding a shovel behind a horse and the horse pees on your hands?  Will you die under a horse’s ass?

Heated mitts are clearly not for the neurotic.

I have to go.  My nose is bleeding.

Photo credits:  tongue stretch, men in tights, Carrot Top, Ronald McDonald, Raggedy Ann, piercings, shovel dude,  horse poop, autopsy cartoon

My belly’s full of blisters, my organs feel squashed, and every time I sneeze my eyes fall out

Never pour boiling hot water on your belly.  You have likely never been tempted to do so, but if the thought should ever flit across your mind–ignore it.  It is not a wise thing to do.  I know from experience.

On Sunday night, I craved spaghetti with mushroom soup on it.  I’m not sure why.  Just roll with it.  I boiled the noodles and went to strain them in the colander when the bottom of my pot hit that thing (not sure what to call it) that divides the two kitchen sinks.  At first, I was concerned about losing the noodles to the cesspool that is a kitchen sink (don’t get me wrong.  My sink looks nice and shiny, but who knows what killer bacterium lurks there, waiting for its next victim).  And that’s when I felt it.  A huge surge of searing pain all over the surface of my belly (I’m not even going to discuss how large this surface is.  Just bear in mind that I did say the pain was “huge.”)  Yes, I am an idiot.  And yes, two days later I still have a rather massive red burn on my tummy.  And it is not happy at all.

The kitchen can be a very dangerous place–with hot water and all those knives.

Keep in mind that I live in Canada and that wearing a tube top in late October is out of the question.  And keep in mind, that I would not be caught dead in a tube top even in the sweltering heat of July.  I’ve tried the whole Daisy Duke “take-the-bottom-of-your-shirt-and-tuck-it-through-the-neckline” thing, but the little flap of material that hangs out from my cleavage keeps poking me in the burn.  Ugh.

Yup. My belly probably feels like this kids nose. But you’ve got to love the look on the crustacean’s face.

And I’m growing very tired of contorting myself in the shower.  Do you know how hard it is to keep one’s trunk dry in the shower?  Plus, doesn’t it defeat the purpose of a shower to begin with?

And my Keurig is feeling neglected.  I’m afraid to spill a hot drink on my belly.  It may sound irrational to you, but you have no idea just how klutzy I am.  If you did, you would tell me stick with cold drinks too.

Doc, I have a problem. My eyes hurt and my eye drops aren’t working.

1)  Yes, I did try to simmer my tummy, but it was an accident.  I can’t imagine torturing my body parts on purpose.

As a woman, I am rather attached to my eyelids.  Without them, my makeup would look funny.  And where would I put my eyelashes?   Not to mention all the dust and bugs that would pelt my cornea in their absence.

It seems that China’s Dong Changsheng is rather less “attached” to his lids.  Or at least, he will be if he keeps pulling cars with them.  Yes, he pulls cars using his eyelids.  Ack.  In fact, he holds the Guinness World Record for the “heaviest vehicle pulled by the eyelids” (there have been others?).  His accomplishment?  Pulling a 3307 lb. car a distance of 33 feet.

I don’t get it.  Was he just sitting in his garage one day looking at his stalled car and he got an itchy eyelid and thought I bet if I tow my VW to the mechanic using my eyelids I could kill two birds with one stone?  I could get a free tow and stop my eyelid from itching.

“I really wanted to achieve that perfect hourglass shape.  I just wish people would stop turning me upside down and placing me on my head. “

2)  Okay.  I’m jealous.  This broad has probably never burned her belly with a pot full of water.  First of all, she probably doesn’t eat.  And, second of all, I doubt she has the core abdominal strength to lift an empty pot, let alone one filled with liquid.

And where  the heck does she keep her internal organs? Her jeans must really bag at the waist.

This is Cathie Jung, the Guinness World Record Holder for the person with the smallest waist.  Thanks to spending 23 1/2 hours each day for over 25 years in a corset, she has achieved a 15 inch waistline.

Can I corset my entire body or will my head pop?

 3) Let’s face it.  Seinfeld‘s George Costanza had a crummy ambulance ride.  With a face like a human eggplant, a warring pair of medics, a collision with another vehicle, and a large hospital bill, things couldn’t have gotten much worse.  Or could they?

76-year-old, Edward Juchniewicz, was on a routine ambulance trip from his old age home to a doctor’s appointment when the unthinkable happened.  The ambulance attendant stopped to talk to a doctor and failed to notice that his patient’s stretcher was rolling away.  The contraption wheeled the poor man down an embankment and overturned.  He later succumbed to head injuries from the accident.

Am I wrong, but aren’t hospitals supposed to make people better?  I didn’t think they were supposed to strap you to a deathtrap on wheels and watch you roll down a hill.  This sounds like something that would happen to me.  Thankfully, our hospital parking lot is completely flat.

Here is a collection of accomplishments achieved by my fellow spastics.  I’m especially fond of the robot costumed kid.

How can my belly be burning hot and cold at the same time?  (Insert deep sigh here.)

Photo Credits:  leg saw (, nose pinch (, VW meets eyelids (, corset lady (

The Daisy Award Nomination!! Woo-Hoo!

Wow, I have never been nominated for anything before in my entire life.  Seriously.  For years I’ve been watching TV award show nominees (and I do mean TONS of them.  I am a wee bit of an award show addict–except for the Country Music Awards.  Like I’ve said before, Country Music gives me a rash and an overwhelming desire to slit my wrists, swallow a jar of the nearest pills, and jump off a tall bridge) say that it’s just an honour to be nominated, and I never believed a word they said.  But, now I do.  It IS an honour.

I must thank for this nomination and I encourage you to check out her insightful, witty, and well-written blog “Going Bananas.”  It rocks!

Now is the tricky part–following the rules.  Not because I am a rebel, but rather because I have problems with deciphering directions.  Seriously, IKEA furniture makes my brain hurt.  But, I will do my valiant best and soldier on.

The rules are:

* Thank the person who nominated you.

* Tell your readers 7 unusual things about yourself.

* Nominate some worthy bloggers.

The first rule was easy.  Again, thank you to!!  Check it out, people.

Now I must reveal 7 unusual things about myself.  I should restate that–reveal 7 unusual things about myself that I haven’t already revealed in my blog.  And I have revealed a lot of unusual things.  Hm.  What to do, what to do.  Okay, here goes nothing:

1)  Apparently, I pronounce things funny.  No, really.  My dentist says I have a small, shallow mouth.  My husband doesn’t believe him.  It would seem that a small, shallow mouth can still produce a lot of noise.  It also seems to impede my ability to say “L” and “TH” sounds properly.  Don’t get me wrong.  These sounds sound (that looks weird in print) right, they just look funny while I’m making them.  My tongue leaps out of my mouth really far.  Like “lick the nose of the person I’m talking to” far.  Probably because my mouth is so shallow.  I went decades without knowing I possessed this flaw, but, thankfully, my husband (the most observant man ever), has made me very aware of this oddity.

2) I am addicted to Seinfeld.  Hence, my blogger name “facelikeafryingpan.”  Remember George trying to describe Elaine to the movie theatre attendant–“face like a frying pan, big wall of hair.”  I even had George’s answering machine message (a spoof of the Greatest American Hero theme song) on my own phone for a while.  Yup, I’m fanatical.

3) I give inanimate objects voices.  No, I’m not insane.  Honest.  I blame my father for this.  When I was a kid, my father used to draw faces on melons, oranges, bananas–basically anything that had an inedible rind.  Now,  imagine a cantaloupe that looks at you with a big smile on its face–as if to say, “hey.  You’re home.  I’m glad to see you.”  Would you be able to hack into it’s skin with a sharp object?  Not likely.  Neither could I.  Melons usually died of old age in our house.

So, now, when I accidentally bang the side of my mug against the coffee table, I apologize.  My car berates me when I hit a pothole too hard.  My Keurig gives me a blow-by-blow description of its progress.  And my computer nags me to clean its screen.  It’s noisy in my head, but I have a lot of fun.  And a lot of friends.  And a patient husband.

4)  I love Daddy-Long-Legs, the misunderstood insect that everyone treats with the same disdain as a run-of-the-mill spider.  I don’t understand it.  They are cute.  Tiny little round bodies with skinny legs that always seem to have minds of their own.  I wish I had long legs and a small body.  Instead I have a body like a snowman and stub legs.

5)  I am addicted to peanut butter.  Especially when it comes with chocolate.  I am a connoisseur of this combination.  Does anyone remember the really old Peanut Butter Cup commercials that said, “You got chocolate in my peanut butter…You got peanut butter in my chocolate.”  Well, I do.  And I have actually dipped Jersey Milk bars in Crunchy Kraft peanut butter and it is awesome.  But, the best peanut butter treat in the world is The Peanut Butter Company’s White Chocolate Wonderful.  On toasted dark rye.  Mm.  I can’t wait for breakfast time tomorrow.

6)  I love Ugly Dolls.  Duh?  I guess this is just a bit obvious if you’ve looked at my blog.  Wage Ugly Doll is the best of all.  Seriously, who couldn’t love someone who comes with his own construction apron.  I keep giving him jobs and he can’t seem to get them done though.  He’s cute, but he’s not too bright.

7)  I am addicted to New York City.  Ever since I studied make-up artistry there, I have been unable to get enough of this city.  This raises another concern.  After perusing my list, I have realized that I have a lot of addictions.  Note to self: address this issue with general practitioner.  Perhaps, referral to mental health professional is required.

Okay, step number 2 is now complete.  I have bared my strange soul to a world of virtual strangers.  In doing so, I now run the risk of another group of strangers arriving at my door with a straight-jacket designed just for me–a short round one with stubbier-than-usual sleeves.  I wonder if rubber rooms are as fun as they look?

Now, I will makes some nominations.  This blogger cracks me up completely.  She is particularly gifted at poking fun at the strange things that we have come to accept as part of everyday life.  Very clever.  And funny!  OMG!  If you need a quick laugh, you can always count on the cartoons by justoutsidethebox.  Really witty and twisted.  Love them.  This blog always puts a huge smile on my face.  I am addicted to her Random Thoughts Fridays.  I definitely recommend adding this to your “Blogs I Follow.”  If you are able to cook and laugh simultaneously, this is the blog for you.  Not only do her recipes cause me to drool all over my keyboard, but her stories are gut-bustingly funny. This is hilarious!  It’s like reading someone’s random (and hysterical) thoughts in a diary format.  You’ve got to check this out.

I wish I could nominate every blog that I follow, but that would take forever.  Turns out, I’m addicted to all of your blogs too!!  (As I am typing, I am keeping one eye on the driveway.  No big vans carrying men in white coats yet.  Phew. )

I wish my nominator and all of my nominees the best of luck being the official Daisy Award winner.